The Don't Leave Me This Way Affair
by Celandine Sandyman
Summary: Napoleon has resigned.  Illya is devastated.  Is everything as it seems?  A really silly fic.


Firstly, I'm really sorry about this. I was bored, couldn't think of a serious MFU fic to write, so I did this piece of silliness. A very good friend encouraged me and it grew into this. Again, I'm sorry :)

**DON'T LEAVE ME THIS WAY…I CAN'T SURVIVE WITHOUT YOUR SWEET LOVE, OH BABY, DON'T LEAVE ME THIS WAY**

**AKA THE WORST MFU FIC IN THE WORLD AFFAIR**

**Chapter 1 - Where do you go, my lovely?**

When Illya Kuryakin left Del Floria's that Friday afternoon, it was with a spring in his step. The sun was shining through a break in the clouds. Perhaps it's a sign, he thought with a smirk. He hailed a taxi cab and began the journey back to his apartment block.

_888888_

It had been a very difficult week for the UNCLE agent. On Monday, he had arrived for work expecting a normal day. The only sign that something was amiss was that Napoleon wasn't waiting for a lift to work. He normally hung around the entrance to their shared apartment block at half past 7 until Illya was ready. Both of them were punctual men and Napoleon was never late. Illya had gone to Napoleon's apartment and knocked but he didn't answer. Illya was slightly worried but expected that his partner had left for work earlier; he had done it before.

Illya arrived at UNCLE HQ and was immediately summoned to Mr Waverly's office. The older man looked very grave. 'Illya, I have bad news. It's about Mr Solo.'

Illya swallowed. 'Mr Waverly…is he?'

There was a long silence. Mr Waverly's incredible eyebrows furrowed in a frown as he looked at his pouting blonde agent. 'Is he what, Mr Kuryakin?'

Illya blinked. 'I'm sorry sir, I thought my dramatic pause for effect was self-explanatory…I feared you were going to tell me Napoleon is…dead. Is that so?'

'No, but as good as to us,' Mr Waverly growled. He cast a letter on the desk in disgust. 'This is his resignation.'

'What? I cannot believe it…'

'I'm afraid it's true. Read it, if you must.'

Illya's large hands were shaking as he held the piece of paper which had suddenly changed his life. The letter was very to the point.

PLEASE TAKE THIS AS MY OFFICIAL RESIGNATION FROM UNCLE. NAPOLEON SOLO.

Mr Waverly watched Illya as he read. 'He left his communicator too. Ungrateful bastard.'

Illya was unprepared to hear such language from his superior, but let it pass. 'I…have to find him, sir.'

'No, Mr Kuryakin…'

'Please! Look, perhaps something has happened in Napoleon's personal life…perhaps Thrush have him and have made him write this as a cover! I must find him, Mr Waverly….I must…'

'Mr Kuryakin, don't be so hysterical. You're acting like a jilted lover.'

Silence.

'Well…anyway..' Mr Waverly bit his pipe. 'I believe Mr Solo has been planning this for while. That's my gut feeling.'

'That's not mine, sir,' Illya replied, in his more usual controlled voice. 'I believe there is more to this than a simple resignation. He would not simply up and leave m…UNCLE. Not without telling m…someone.'

Mr Waverly sighed and waved his hand. 'Do what you will, Mr Kuryakin. But on your own time. Mr Solo left plenty of un-filed paperwork to get through.'

'Yes, sir.' Illya turned and, when he found all the abandoned paperwork, suddenly felt even more determined to find his partner.

**Chapter 2 - Gonna make a start, I'm gonna make a move**

The week had been very trying. Illya had been kept busy but all he wanted to do was focus on finding Napoleon.

The search had been pretty fruitless. When Illya got back from work that Monday evening, he went straight to Napoleon's apartment with the intention of looking for clues. By the time he got there, the place had been completely stripped by UNCLE agents. Whatever belongings Napoleon had left were gone. Illya had been very angry with the agents but as they told him (when he got them all cowering wide-eyed on the floor) they were just following orders. Mr Waverly was obviously so offended by Napoleon's sudden exit that he wanted every trace of the former agent removed. 'And I act like the jilted lover,' Illya muttered to himself.

Illya had no leads and it looked as though his partner really had disappeared into thin air. Until, that Friday afternoon, Lisa Rogers shared a piece of classified information.

'I'm only telling you this because I like you, Illya,' she had explained during their hastily arranged meeting in store room. She flicked her long dark hair back and showed him a piece of paper, covered in numbers. 'A telephone number. He left it with me and told me to only use this number to contact him in an extreme emergency…'

'Thank you, Lisa, I appreciate this,' Illya beamed. 'Maybe he'll speak to me. This is just what I need.'

'Great,' smiled back Lisa. 'You can give me what I need in exchange, then.'

Illya was more than a little surprised to find himself suddenly pushed up against the wall, shirt yanked open and Lisa's hands all over his suddenly exposed chest. And when he opened his mouth to protest, Lisa's mouth covered it in a frighteningly rough kiss. At first, Illya was too stunned to do much about any of this, but when he found his trousers suddenly around his ankles, he felt it was time to speak up.

'Lisa, please! I'm not entirely comfortable with this…'

'Well I'm comfortable enough for the both of us,' smiled Lisa, hands exploring places on Illya that he rarely gave permission for anyone to explore. She watched his face and then looked increasingly disappointed. 'Illya, what's wrong with you? Look, you get the phone number and a little extra.'

'I'm afraid I'm feeling rather violated.'

Lisa frowned, was silent for a moment and then yanked Illya's trousers back up, handing him his belt. 'Fine. Sorry to make you feel uncomfortable. You know, you walk around this building everyday looking incredible and…'

'Incredible?'

'With your crystal blue eyes, flawless skin, pouting lips, flowing golden hair, fit little body…'

'Little?'

'And you expect no-one to notice? The females here aren't nuns, you know. I'm certainly not.'

'I…honestly, Lisa, that comes as no surprise to me.' He cleared his throat. 'I don't mean to give off the wrong signals. I suppose I just can't help being…the way I am. But because I haven't fulfilled your desire to…erm…'

'Devour you sexually.'

'Yes, that…does that mean I can't have the telephone number?'

Lisa sighed. 'Stop pouting. Here.' She handed over the paper. She folded her arms and watched him smile like a happy child with a lollipop as he put it safely in his jacket pocked.

Illya smartened himself up and then went to the store room door. He paused and looked at Mr Waverly's secretary. 'I'm really very sorry, Lisa.'

Lisa smirked. 'Oh don't worry. I'll get over it. Hope you find Napoleon.'

'Thank you.' Illya left the store room but soon turned back when he heard banging and Lisa yelling in despair. He rushed back and found her pounding the walls with her fists. 'Are you alright?' he asked, an eyebrow raised.

'Oh…yeah, fine,' Lisa snapped. She sighed. 'Put that perfect eyebrow back in place, will you?'

Illya backed away slowly.

Yes, it had been a trying, strange week indeed.

Now he was on his way back home with a lead to Napoleon. He examined the number when he sat in the back of the taxi. It was very unfamiliar. But the appalling handwriting was clearly Napoleon's. He felt a tingle down his spine. He finally had hope.

Back at his apartment, Illya went straight for the phone. He rang and it went straight to an answer phone.

'Hi this is Napoleon Solo. Please leave a message and I'll try and get back to you.'

Illya cleared his throat. 'Napoleon? It's Illya. Your partner. I fear we have fallen out and I have not been informed. I can't understand why you have resigned and I want to talk about it please. Call me back.'

Illya replaced the phone receiver and looked around. He decided he was hungry and went to make dinner while he waited for the return call.

**Chapter 3 - Ring, Ring, why won't you give me a call?**

No call came. The next day, Illya went on a mission to England and was away for most of the week. Illya was desperate to get home for the whole mission. When he got back to his apartment 5 days later, he ran to the phone. He checked for messages. There were none.

Almost a week and no reply? Illya dialled the number again. It went to the answer phone again. 'Napoleon? If it's no trouble, I would like you to call me back as soon as possible. It's very rude of you to have not replied already. Call me.'

Illya looked around, decided he was hungry, and went to make dinner.

The next mission took him to Florida. It was an unpleasant affair and Thrush held Illya captive for three days. He wasn't badly hurt but he finally escaped and arrived back at his apartment bruised and battered.

A check of his answer machine revealed that there were no messages for him. Illya limped to the kitchen, head bowed, and rooted around for a first aid kit. He rang Napoleon's number and left a message as he was tending to his injuries.

'Napoleon? I'm very tired and had a very trying mission. If you were here you would be helping me bandage my wounds. As it is, I'm here alone and wondering why you won't call. It's very confusing and hurtful. Call me.'

After helping himself as best he could, Illya limped off to the kitchen. He decided he wasn't hungry and grabbed a bottle of vodka instead.

_888888888_

April Dancer walked into what used to be Napoleon's office and did a double take. Illya was sitting at the desk going through various reports.

'Hi, Illya! What are you doing?'

'Going over past missions,' Illya replied, distantly. 'Looking for…clues.'

'Ok,' April replied. 'What kind of clues?'

'I thought I might find something that would explain…why he left.'

'Oh. I take it you mean N…Illya, you don't look too good.'

'I'm fine.'

'No you're not, you're pale.'

'April, have we met before?'

'Many times.'

'Then surely you've noticed that this is my usual complexion.'

'No, you look washed out. And your hair is very messy.'

'Mr hair is long, golden and flowing. Ask Lisa.'

'You're thinner than usual.'

'I have a fit little body. Again, I refer you to Lisa.'

'Illya what I'm trying to say is that I think you're taking this all to heart. It must have been a very big shock to suddenly lose Napoleon but…'

'I have not lost him!' Illya snapped. He jumped out of his seat and threw the papers to the floor. For a moment there was silence and April stared at the normally composed agent in shock. 'I'm sorry, April. There was no need for a such an outburst.'

'That's ok, I'll help you pick them up.' She had a brief look at the papers as she picked them up. 'Oh Illya, you went through a lot together didn't you.'

'Perhaps it was the pressure of our work. April, some missions strained our relationship. I had to torture him once! Do you think it's my fault he's gone?'

April patted Illya's hand. 'I doubt it. I believe he loves you.'

'He doesn't. He wouldn't do this to me if he did.' Illya blinked the tears from his eyes and put the papers back quickly. 'April, I think I should go home. Will you cover for me?'

'Yes, of course.' April watched in pity as Illya left the small office with his head bowed. She sighed and shook her head. 'Broken-hearted. Completely.'

**Chapter 4 - With a little help from my friends**

'Napoleon? This is Illya. I don't know what I've done that's hurt you, but believe me I am sorry. The last thing I would ever do is hurt you, you mean too much to me. Your lack of response has now passed the realms of hurt and border on extreme rudeness. Get over yourself and call me back. You…blockhead.'

Illya sighed and sat up. He swigged from the vodka bottle again and dropped it by his couch. He ruffled his hair and stood up. He went to the kitchen and found chocolates. He went back to the couch, put the television on and found one channel showing 'Gone with the Wind'. Perfect. He sat in front of the film eating and swigging vodka for quite some time.

There was a knock on the door. Illya's heart stopped. Could it be?

He threw the chocolates off his lap and rushed to the door. 'Napoleon? Napoleon?' Illya opened the door and his heart sank. 'Oh. Sorry, Mark.'

The British agent bit his lip, his blue eyes confused. 'You ok, Illya?'

'Not particularly, no. Why are you here?'

'Can I come in a moment?'

Illya left he door open and returned to the couch. Mark took this as an invitation to come in, and shut the door behind him. 'Listen, erm…April asked me to come over. She's a bit worried about you, mate.'

'Why on earth would she be worried?' Illya asked.

Mark cast his eyes over Illya's dishevelled appearance (he had never expected to see the Russian agent wearing a shabby 'Thunderbirds' T-shirt over faded jeans) and the empty vodka bottles strewn around the room. 'Well, I wasn't sure, but it's becoming quite clear.'

'I'm fine.' Illya just about managed to stifle a burp. 'I'm sorry I left work early. I'll come back with you if you wish…'

'I don't think you'll be much good to us right now,' Mark cut in. 'Waverly isn't keen on his agents staggering around the corridors inebriated.'

'Ineb…inebri…you mean drunk? Oh Mark, no. I can handle my vodka.'

'Ah ha. Look, Illya, I came to say that April and I have spoken to Waverly and he's agreed to give you some time off.'

A fire flared in Illya's eyes. 'I do not need time off. How dare you interfere?'

Mark raised his arms. 'Hey, mate, we just want to help. You're clearly…erm…having some issues at the moment. Perhaps some time off would help.'

'I'm telling you again, I don't need…' Illya paused. 'Wait. Mark, I've been ringing Napoleon and I've left him a few answer phone messages…'

'How many is a few?'

'103, so far…'

'Oh my g…'

'He hasn't replied to any of them. I put this down to extreme rudeness and disregard for my feelings. But perhaps I'm wrong…perhaps there is something wrong with my phone, he has been leaving messages in return and I haven't received them! Maybe he has been trying to contact me but can't because it's not working!'

'Well, I guess that could be…' Mark was about to remind Illya there were several ways Napoleon could contact him if he wished to, but the suddenly hopeful face on Illya was too adorable to spoil.

'So if I'm here and he tries to call, I'll be able to answer,' Illya continued. 'Yes, Mark, a few days off would be very helpful, thank you.'

Mark shrugged. 'No problem.' He stood and moved to make his escape quickly. 'Just get in contact if you need to.'

'Of course.' Illya was beaming now. Mark gave him a sympathetic smile in return and left.

_8888888_

'Rhett! Oh Rhett!'

Scarlett O Hara caught up with her husband at the door. 'But Rhett, where will I go, what will do?'

The handsome, dark haired man turned and to look unsympathetically at the devastated love of his life. 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.'

He left, never to return.

At that point, Illya turned off the television and wept hysterically.

**Chapter 5 - Can't live if living is without you…**

The phone never rang; not that anyone would have much chance to ring through. Now he was home all day, Illya started leaving messages on the hour, every hour. And he became more and more morose. Each message he left became more desperate than the next.

'Napoleon? I'm thinking of you, again. I think of nothing but you. You are constantly on my mind and you will be until you return. I haven't given up on that. I'm going to make some tea now. Call me.'

'Napoleon? I've run out of milk. And chocolate. So I'm going out to get some. I will return shortly, as I hope you will. Call me.'

'Napoleon? I went shopping. The strange fellow on the corner was there again. I ignored his repeated attempts to coax me into seeing his 'home'…I suspect it's a cardboard box. Call me.'

Napoleon? I'm drinking vodka again. Yes, at 1 in the afternoon. This is what you have reduced me to. Call me.'

'Napoleon? I can't agree that 'Nowhere Man' is the best Beatles song. Although it could apply to me and the way I'm feeling because of you. My fondness for 'I Am The Walrus' has now been replaced by an obsessive desire to listen to 'Yesterday' repeatedly. This is also because of you. I hope you are satisfied. Call me.'

'Heyyyy…Illya again. I'm drunk again. I think it's raining. Outside as well as in my heart. Call me.'

'Yesterday….all my troubles seemed so far away…now it looks as though they're here to stay…oh I believe in yesterday…call me.'

'You know grey suits have never suited you. They make you incompetent. Have I told you that? I'm glad you have that dark suit now. It looks so much better on you. It emphasises your features. Call me.'

'I was thinking of your features…I bought some hazel nut chocolate earlier and I'm eating it now. It reminds me of your eyes. You have very nice eyes. Have I ever told you that? No…I don't think I have…is that why you left? You have very nice eyes…I've told you now, so come back. Call me.'

'Nowhere maaaaan, please listen…you don't know what you're missing…nowhere maaaaan…'

'I'm crying again. Damn, Napoleon…I shouldn't cry. I'm Russian. I suddenly want to stop being a godless communist and believe in some kind of deity, so that I can blame said deity for the hopeless situation I find myself in. I am lost….lost without you. My life is as dark as your hair. Your dark, silky hair. You have nice hair. Have I told you that? Call me.'

'I am the egg man…they are the egg men….I am the walrus! Coo Coo Ca Jub! Ha! It's an amazing song, Napoleon! It's so deep! It's…oh, I'm going to be sick…call me.'

**Chapter 6 - Want you back, want you back for good**

The sun came out at last. It steamed through the open blinds and caught Illya's face. The young agent woke up to find himself sprawled out on the top of his bed. He couldn't remember making it to the bedroom. He managed to sit up and groaned loudly. He was getting tired these daily hangovers.

In nothing but his small white briefs he staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. He was trying desperately to find the coffee jar amongst all the rubbish he had left on the kitchen top when the doorbell rang. Illya groaned and went to the doorway. He couldn't be bothered to go all the way to the main door.

'I'm fine, Mark…this isn't a good time though,' he called. He clutched his head and regretted doing that.

'It's not Mark…it's me!'

Illya gasped. 'N…Napoleon?'

'Are you going to let me in?'

Illya raced to the door and flung it open. When he found that it really was his partner standing at the door, he grabbed Napoleon, dragged him in, and threw himself on the missing agent.

For a moment, Napoleon was too stunned to do much. Eventually he decided to move Illya, still only in his briefs, off of him. 'Ah, hi Illya.'

Illya got up, pulled Napoleon to his feet and threw a punch at him.

'What the hell was that for?' snapped Napoleon.

Illya's eyes flashed. 'For leaving me in complete despair for over a fortnight. Where the hell have you been?'

'You won't believe it.'

'Try me.'

'Ok.' Napoleon sat wearily on the couch. He looked a bit dishevelled and tired but otherwise fine. 'I've been….Illya, get a damn dressing gown on, will you?'

'What? Oh. Sorry.' Illya hurried to the bedroom and covered himself a little better. 'Now, you were saying.'

Napoleon sighed. 'I was kidnapped.'

'By who? Thrush? We had contact with them and they denied all involvement with your disappearance.'

'They were being honest, strangely. I was kidnapped by, ah, Lisa Rogers.'

Illya shuddered. 'Lisa?'

'Yeah. You know, Mr Waverly's secretary?'

'I…I'm familiar with her.'

'Well I believe she's a little crazy.'

'You think?'

'Actually I know she's crazy. I was in my office and got knocked on the head. When I came round I was tied up in one of the basement rooms at HQ. Lisa was there and admitted she did it.' Napoleon sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. 'Illya, she made me have sex with her. Repeatedly. And a bit bizarrely as well. Honestly, the positions….'

'Oh god Napoleon, I don't need all the details,' Illya cut in. 'She made you?'

'Yeah! She said she'd kill me if I didn't. I feared for my life, Illya. Don't look at me like that.'

'Ok. Did she explain why?'

Napoleon nodded. 'Apparently she's in love with another agent, who doesn't feel the same. She kept going on and on about him and saying how wonderful this guy was. She said I wasn't as amazing as him but was as close as she could get. He must be a pretty incredible guy.'

Illya said nothing.

'Anyway, she didn't feed me much so I was soon too tired for sex.'

'You?'

'Yes, Illya. Even I am only human. She made me write a letter of resignation and wouldn't explain why. Then this morning she said she had what she needed, whatever that meant, and let me go.'

'Have you told Mr Waverly?'

'Of course! I've spent most of the morning with him. I thought he would get rid of her like a shot. But no.'

'Why not?'

'He was pleased enough to get me back. But apparently Lisa is irreplaceable. She gives a good, ah, service to him. And I'm not talking strictly secretarial.'

Illya sank down on the couch beside him, feeling even more sick. 'Chto za huy.'

Napoleon had come to learn plenty of Russian swearing thanks to his partner over the years and never approved. 'That's more or less what I thought, but steady on.'

'Sorry. It's just…'

'Yeah. I know.'

'But Napoleon, she gave me a number to call you! A phone number that she said had been left with her in case of emergency. I've been leaving messages for you.'

'Oh yeah! She made me record a message for an answering machine. That was why, then. I never heard it.'

'210, to be exact.'

'Illya! What the f…'

'Oh, so it's alright for you to curse in your native language and not me?'

Napoleon smirked. 'Alright sorry. But 210?'

'I thought…I thought you'd left me.' Illya hung his head and stared at the carpet. 'I thought you'd abandoned me and I couldn't understand why. I was confused, frightened, lost, a nowhere man.'

Napoleon let that pass. He put an arm around his saddened friend. 'I thought you seemed a bit, ah, rough. Hey, I wouldn't do that to you.

Illya raised his eyes. 'No?'

'No! Illya, come on…I'd never hurt you.'

Illya smiled. He thought for a moment. 'Hey, you know that number I kept leaving answer messages on? I wonder who's it was?'

Napoleon shrugged. 'I don't know. Who cares? Listen, do you want to eat?'

'Normally, you wouldn't have to ask. Right now, I'm still under the effects of a most unpleasant hangover.'

'Come on, a greasy breakfast at the local café will put you right. I promise you.'

Illya nodded happily and dashed off to dress. He held tightly to Napoleon's arm on the way out of the apartment in case Napoleon suddenly disappeared again. He knew he was never leaving his partner in HQ with Lisa Rogers again, that was for sure.

_8888888_

'Here you go, Lisa,' smiled Heather, handing over the answer phone machine. 'What did you want this for?'

Lisa smiled back. 'Oh, I'd rather not say Heather. This is my private line.'

'You're very popular. Look how many messages are stored on it! 210!'

Lisa continued to smile and took the machine from her colleague. 'As I suspected. And each of these messages will come in very useful.'

'Oh? Why's that?'

'All I can say is that those messages will be my inspiration. I'm secretly a bit of a writer, you know.'

'Oh!' Heather blinked. 'I didn't know. What kind of things do you write?'

Lisa looked up with a twinkle in her eyes. 'Ever heard of slash, honey?'


End file.
